


Nate and Friends

by masseylass



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Multi, One Shot, Sexual Humor, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2020-11-27 10:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 9,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20947160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masseylass/pseuds/masseylass
Summary: A series of poorly-written one-shots revolving around the idiot Nate and his companions. Each chapter is a standalone story and is guaranteed to outrank its predecessor in stupidity.





	1. Sweet, Irish Vengeance (Nate and Cait)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cait vents out her anger in a healthy manner.

Cait swung her bat over and over and over again, eyes wild. Nate watched in awe as her arm muscles bulged every time the bat clashed with its target.

“TAKE! THAT! YOU! PIECE! O! SHITE!”

Even though dark liquid splattered her face, Cait kept on’a swinging. She swung and swung until beads of sweat rolled down her freckled chest. Finally, she tossed the bat next to the empty bottle of whiskey on the ground and breathed, forehead glistening in the light of dusk.

Nate pressed a gentle hand against her shoulder. “Are you alright, Cait?”

“Am I alright?!” she repeated mockingly. “I just stubbed me toe on a bloody mutfruit bush!”

“Yeah, but, did ya have to beat it up, though?”

“AYE, DAMN IT” wailed Cait Irishly.


	2. Ad Victoriam (Paladin Danse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paladin Danse lives the American dream.

Danse breathed a sigh of contentment. Nate was sound asleep in his bedroll a few trailers away over at Fiddler’s Green Estates. The paladin had the morning to himself, feet planted firmly inside of his suit of open power armor. He left the front unhinged so that he could feel the brisk air upon his chest and face.

It was dawn. A handful of leftover stars twinkled above, dotting the sky like fireflies. The air smelled like wet earth. Danse inhaled and closed his eyes. Everything was peaceful. Serene. Perfect. He hadn’t felt pure, unadulterated solitude like that in a long, long time, and took a moment to bask in that sweet, American freedom. He smiled.

With that smile came a deep, horkin’ groan as he blew his load over the side of the cliff. Then, silence.

Steely gaze falling over the valley, Danse’s lips parted. “Ad victoriam…ad victoriam…”


	3. Fallon's Basement (Deacon and Nate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deacon goes shopping!

Fallon’s! Deacon was stoked. And while Nate was off looting God-only-knew-what, he could do a little soul-searching, and by soul-searching, he meant shopping.

The Railroad agent sure liked to test his limits. He always wondered how far he could go before somebody caught on to his ruse. How few items could he mix and match before people forgot he was Deacon? He gazed out over the sea of men’s wear, women’s wear, and kid’s wear and immediately set to work. Sure, he felt guilty for leaving Nate upstairs, but hey, free clothes right?

-

Nate closed the steamer trunk with a groan, rotating his aching shoulder. Suddenly, the light shifted. It was such an infinitesimal little flicker that he almost missed it. His gaze focused on the standing mirror behind the trunk. One, measly shard of glass hung onto the frame. It seemed Nate’s reflection wasn’t alone.

The vault-dweller drew his pistol, and in return, the raider drew hers. She wasn’t quick enough, though: one shot to the head was all it took. Her sunglasses shattered, blood and brains raining down like piñata candy.

The victor grabbed his gear and rose to his feet. As he made his way toward the stairs, he hollered at Deacon. “Come on! Can’t believe you left me hanging like that!” But his only answer was an echo.

Nate never did find Deacon. He searched for hours, emptiness and betrayal coiling in his gut. He guessed that it was; Deacon finally bailed on his commitments and left to find someone else he could bullshit. Guess he never should have trusted him. 

Nate gave an angry sigh and stomped off, the raider’s ten-cap sunglasses crunching underneath his bloody boot…


	4. MacCready's Gaze (MacCready and Nate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Drink. Some. Water."

MacCready gazed across the wreckage of briny ships, boots shuffling against the sand. It was a starlit evening. “Between you and me, I hate being on the water,” he complained, breaking the long stretch of silence.

“S’that right?” hummed a distracted Nate. He held out his glasses and squinted, buffing a smudge away with his sleeve.

MacCready nodded. “Makes me seasick.”

-

MacCready gazed out at the lightning that crackled like confetti against the green sky. His boots crunched against the splintered earth of the Glowing Sea. It was noon. “Ugh…”

Nate pressed pause and glanced up from his Pipboy. He guessed Red Menace could wait. “You say somethin’?”

MacCready frowned. “Rads are making me sick to my stomach.”

-

MacCready gazed upon the rusted metal. Massive pipes and machines jutted out of the concrete. His boots echoed off the cannery floor. It was morning. “Let’s pass on the fish,” he remarked.

Nate poked his head out from behind a barrel. Ten caps and a Jet inhaler. Mediocre loot. “Huh?”

“It gives me gas. You don’t want that to happen.”

Nate tossed the Jet back into the barrel, inhaled sharply, and began rifling through his backpack. Once he found was he was looking for, he stomped up to MacCready, eyes wild, and shoved a bottle of viscous, pink medicine into his face. “DRINK. SOME. PEPTO.”


	5. On Diamond City (Valentine and Piper)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick gets really, really caught up in the moment.

_Diamond City._

_Beautiful when it rains, in a melancholy sort of way, like soft echoes of jazz swaying along the corridor of an empty home; memories of an older time. I count my own time instead, every drop of rain the beat of a metronome as I sit back and watch the world go by, marveling at the wonder before me that is the Great, Green Jewel._

_To my left is the noodle shop. The masses gather in spite of foul weather, sacrificing the comfort of dry shirts for one of tradition. Steam rises from their bowls. They choose never to speak, never to glance over at their neighbor and wonder if maybe, just maybe, they aren’t fated to be alone in this battered and beaten, old world._

_To my right are the stands. Diamond City’s elite huddle outside of the Taphouse, judging those of us below with the ‘misfortune’ of living modest lives amidst the bleachers. Their pride cuts through the air like a bullet, loud enough to drown out the clamor of rain. Sometimes, I swear it’s all I can hear._

_Straight ahead, Diamond City guards go about their rotation. They say nothing as they pass by. I don’t need to see underneath their helmets to know that their eyes remain fixed on whatever inconsequential problem lies ahead. Apathy: a distraction from the injustice that surrounds them. Maybe it’s a metaphor, or maybe they’re just tired, world-weary young men with weathered hearts who – _

“Ooh, are you doing that thing where you monologue?”

“Huh?” Valentine snapped back to reality.

Piper plopped down on a stool next to the detective. “Is it because of the weather? Did you make it about jazz again? You know, that thing about the looong, empty corridor? That one’s my favorite!”

Valentine glowered. 

“You know, The Publick is always open to publishing poetry if you wanna –” 

“Not a chance, toots.”


	6. Watching the World Melt (Hancock and Nate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock indulges in a little recreational chem use.

The bright, pink sunset flashed over Medford, waves of orange rippling against discarded tires and bits of metal. Mirelurks could be seen scuttling about the shore a ways down, and gunfire crackled miles off in the distance. Time for Nate and Hancock to catch their breaths.

Nate sat on the dock. He rubbed his sleeve against the smudge of blood on his boot. Hancock approached from behind, joining the vault-dweller by taking a seat on the sun-cracked wood. 

“Ain't that a sight?” breathed the mayor. “Wouldn't have thought there could still be something that pretty out here…present company excluded.”

Nate stopped what he was doing and stared into Hancock’s black eyes alight with the sherbet flare of sunset. That same light outlined the grooves of Hancock’s laugh lines as he smirked, idly watching a flock of gulls swarm the air above. Finally, the ghoul caught Nate’s stare.

“Did I say somethin’ wrong?” he asked.

“You’re doing the thing again.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you make me extra gay.”

Hancock grinned. “You don’t need my help with that, Sunshine, you’re doing just fine on your own.” He whipped out an inhaler of jet, took a huff, and tapped Nate on the nuts while the colors of the world melted together in perfect, impressionistic synchronicity. 

“Owwwwwwww” said Nate in slow motion. “Mmmyyyyyy nuuuutttttttsssssssss! Ffffuuuuucccckkkk yyyoooouuuu Hhhannnnccooooooock!”


	7. Judgment Call (Valentine and Nate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate makes a last-minute decision using only his wit and a hand grenade.

Nick and Nate climbed down the stairs of the Cliff’s Edge Hotel in Far Harbor, taking the miss nanny’s lead. Once she reached the bottom, Pearl turned a corner. The gentlemen followed suit. Suddenly, Nate crouched down in front of Nick and stuck an assertive fist into the air, signaling for the synth to stop. He did. Five bloated, gangrenous corpses peeled themselves up off the ground, a cacophony of rugged gasps filling the silence. 

“Keep your distance. Ferals hit hard,” whispered Nick. 

The ghouls scrambled to their feet, more of them than Nate’s eyes could keep up with. And the worst part? Their robotic guide was headed right into the hoard. 

Nate hissed. “Shit. Alright, back it up.” 

Valentine nodded before they both backtracked a ways up the stairs. Reaching down, Nate pulled a grenade from his holster, twisted the key, pulled, and tossed. It bounced off of the doorframe like a pachinko machine and rebounded onto the floor where it rolled under Pearl. The hoard descended on her just in time for Nate to close his eyes, cover his ears, and wince.

BOOM!

Once the dust settled, he blinked and examined the wreckage. Pearl wasn’t “dead” per se, just a little…disassembled. Her extremities whirred as she began to repair herself amidst the gory pile of limbs, her shiny, white exterior spattered with blood. 

Nate cocked his head to the side to look at his traveling partner. “Hmm. Was that assault?”

The synth raised a brow, or lack thereof.

Nate looked back at Pearl, whose jets fluttered back to life. She pulled herself up from the oozing pile of melted flesh and hovered along down the hall.

“Nahhh…” he decided. “That wasn’t assault. That was a judgment call.”

Nick rolled his yellow eyes, shook his head, and lit up a smoke.


	8. Babysitting (Nate x Danse pairing; Hancock, Cait, Curie, Strong)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock and Cait babysit the kids while Nate and Danse go on their date. Totally not a recipe for disaster.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” asked Nate.

“Relax,” insisted Cait, tired of hearing the same question for the millionth time. 

“They’ll be just fine,” added Hancock. “No accounting for taste, but you deserve a little alone time, even if it is with Danse.”

“Okay, it’s just…” Nate peeked outside. Strong stomped down the road. He paused, scratched his ass, and sniffed his fingers. Curie sat on a chair under the awning of the workshop opposite Nate’s Sanctuary home. She stared at the palms of her hands, turning them over and wiggling her fingers. “It’s just,” he continued, “Curie has only been a synth for forty-eight hours, and Strong is, well…” Strong sniffed his thumb. “Maybe this was a bad idea…”

Cait tilted her head back and groaned. “OH FOR CRYIN’ OUT-”

“Listen,” interrupted Hancock, calm as ever, “you’ve been through all kinds of crazy shit out there. Cait and I have got this, man. You do you. Or should I say, you do Danse.”

Nate placed his head in his hands. “I really, really wanna do Danse. Alright. I’m trusting you two.”

“Have I ever let you down before?” asked the mayor.

Maybe Hancock was right. Nate would have asked in the first place if he didn’t trust them. So the night went on as planned. Nate had only confessed his feelings for Danse a short time ago, and the two were eager to go explore the limits of their affections together. Turns out those limits were butt-related and took place about a mile away in an abandoned shipping yard.

Nate and Danse stared at one another on the bridge. “I should get back to the Prydwen,” said the paladin.

“Yup,” replied Nate. His voice cracked in the most humiliating way possible.

They stared in silence for nearly a minute until Nate cleared his throat. Danse held his hand out for a shake. _Really, a shake?_ thought Nate. He made a face. Danse almost took his hand back before Nate decided, fuck it, this is the most emotion I’m ever going to get out of this sexy ass toaster. They proceeded to shake. It was terrible.

At a loss of what to do next, Danse panicked and said, “Uh…ad victoriam, then,” before leaving Nate to his own devices.

Nate wondered if any – and he meant any – of that was worth it, and waddled back to Sanctuary. 

Everything was quiet. Well, at least nobody would see his walk of shame, right? But as he entered the front door, he was shocked to find Curie, Hancock, Cait, and even Strong sitting cross-legged in a circle on the floor of the living room.

“Ah, you ‘ave returned!” exclaimed Curie. “Mademoiselle Cait has explained ze nature of your, er, relationship with Monsieur Danse. She has told me that you – “  
“BIG METAL MAN GIVE MILK OF HUMAN KINDNESS TO HUMAN!!!” interrupted Strong. “STRONG WANT METAL MAN’S MILK!!!”

Nate glared at Hancock and Cait who exchanged roguish glances. “I am never trusting either of you ever again.”

“Probably wise,” shrugged Hancock.

“HOW MUCH MILK DID METAL MAN GIVE HUMAN???!!!”

“Yeah,” snickered Cait, “how much milk did Danse give ya, Nate?”

Nate turned his palms up and squeezed his fingers, imagining Cait and Hancock’s respective necks in his trembling grasp. _I FUCKING HATE YOU,_ he mouthed.


	9. A Night Out on the Harbor (Old Longfellow x Cait pairing, yes really, plus Nate, Nick, and Mitch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate gets blackout drunk in Far Harbor and faces the consequences.

Nate tipped the bottle back and swallowed down the last of his whiskey, Longfellow, Cait, and the crowd on the docks chanting, “Chug, chug, chug!” That was the last thing he remembered before waking up amidst the haze of the blue fog inside of a mirelurk carapace lined with Boston Bugles and seaweed. “Oh god,” he groaned, and climbed his way out of the shell. As he attempted to get to his feet, he slipped on a wet newspaper and fell, slamming his head against a fog condenser. “Fuck!”

“Heyyy, keep it dooooowwwnnnn!” shouted a familiar voice. Was that? Could it be? No… 

“Mitch?” gasped Nate. He squinted his eyes, trying to see past his blurred vision. Christ. He felt terrible.

“Mitch? Nooo! For cryin’ out loud! This is my farrrmmmm!”

Nate’s vision came back into unfortunate focus. “No,” he insisted.

“Yessss,” insisted naked Uncle Ken. He adjusted his balls and cackled, picking up his hoe to resume tending his beloved crops.

-

Nate did his walk of shame all the way back to the harbor and across the strait, only stopping once he reached Old Longfellow’s door. He gave three, brisk knocks. 

“I’m a comin’, I’m a comin’,” grunted a husky voice. The door creaked open. As soon as the old man caught sight of Nate, he chuckled. “Well, look who finally made it back home! You convince that old fart to go home with his nephew?”

“Where’s Cait?” demanded Nate, dodging the question.

“You mean the redhead you came here with?”

“Hey!” wailed a feminine brogue. “I’ve got a name! Funny how you only remember it durin’, eh Darlin’?”

“No,” demanded Nate.

Longfellow shrugged. “Why don’t you head on over to the harbor, get yourself somethin’ for that hangover? You need a few caps, Cap’n?”

“Don’t you Cap’n me, old man,” hissed Nate, seeing a silky, smooth leg pop up from behind the door. He reached for his wallet. It wasn’t there. He patted himself down and groaned, knowing it was probably in some smelly carapace somewhere. “Okay, fine. Loan me twenty caps and never speak of this again.”

Longfellow chuckled again and handed him thirty. “Good kid. Don’t come back for an hour.”

-

There were dark bags under Nate’s eyes as Mitch, disappointed that Nate ’hadn’t even met his uncle,’ sat down a mirelurk scramble in front of him. Nate grimaced.

“Say, what’s eating you this morning? You haven’t touched your food,” commented the old detective, trying to get Nate back on track in solving Kasumi’s case.

“Just radsick.”

“Radsick, my ass. Hasn’t anyone ever told you I’m the best detective in Diamond City? And where’s Cait?”

“You’re the only detective in Diamond City, and…and I don’t wanna talk about Cait.”

“Huh. Well, hope everything’s alright. Last time you were this hungover you woke up in a Goodneighbor outhouse.”

“Nick, Old Longfellow stole my girl.”

The synth raised his brow, or where one would have been if he had any. “Wait. Old Longfellow and Cait? You mean they…”

Nate gave an affirmative, if defeated, sigh.

“Oh. Well, sorry to hear it. Hey, uh, not to sound complacent, but I thought you were with MacCready?”

“I am,” moaned Nate, poking at his fishy scramble.

“And Mayor Hancock, if memory serves.”

“Mhmm.”

“And, say, weren’t you and Piper hitting it off back in Diamond City?”

Nate swiveled in his barstool, placing his palms against Nick’s artificial flesh. He held his dear friend’s face in his hands, looked into his golden eyes, and said, “Valentine. I’m a slut.”

Nick’s eyes widened. He sat there and took it. Better to let Nate get it all out of his system.

“I’m a filthy, filthy man, Nick. It’s like some other-worldly force compels me to bone down on all of my companions just because they exist. And if you weren’t straight, Nick, you’d be next on my list.”

Nick’s stomach, or lack thereof, felt like it fell out of his ass. “Okay,” spoke Nick in his usual calm voice. He took Nate’s wrists and lowered them, swiveling him back around and placing a fork in one of the kid’s hands and a knife in the other. “It’s alright to have multiple partners. Whatever floats your boat. But let’s tone it back a little before –”

“I fucked Uncle Ken.”

“WHHAAAAAATTTTTTT!!!!!?????!” screamed Mitch, causing the bar’s cat to yowl, panic, and crash into Nate’s omelet. Mirelurk meat and egg went flying everywhere, his plate shattering on the ground like confetti.  
“You heard me, goddamn it!” flailed Nate. “I fucked your uncle, and that old bastard Longfellow fucked my girl! I woke up inside of a mirelurk!”

“What?” gasped Nick, having zero context in which to extrapolate from.

“Ya sick freeeeak! Get offa my doccckkkkkkkk!” Mitch hurled a bottle of Vim at Nate’s head. He dodged and the bottle shattered.

“This is the Mariner’s dock, asshole!”

“Whaddya gonna do about it?! Fight me on it?!”

“Yeah!”

“Oh yeeeeahhhh Mainlander?!”

“YEAH MITCH, YEAH!”

“Fiiiine! You’n’me, outsiiiiide! Right nowww!”

-

Nate rolled over. Sweat glistened on his naked chest. He looked into the eyes of his evening fling. And then he winced.

“Looks like you could use an ice, cold Vimmmm!” breathed Mitch.

Nate sighed. “The fuck is wrong with me?”


	10. Bedtime Story (Nate, Strong, Piper)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A polyamorous Nate wonders who will be coming to bed with him.

Sanctuary was boring. What Nate needed was his own property away from Mama Murphy and Sturgess and that insufferable woman with the mopey husband and the dead kid. Marnie, or, whatserface. So he decided to settle at Taffington Boathouse. And why not? It was waterfront property. Couple of acres, low mortgage, what wasn’t to love? 

Next his companions started moving in. And finally, he started dating his companions. Each night was a struggle. Whose turn was it? He was losing count.

That Saturday after a long day of fighting raiders, he staggered into the living room. MacCready and Cait were playing cards on the table; Curie and Piper were reading magazines on the couch; Preston, Danse, and Hancock sat on the floor cleaning their weapons. 

Preston looked up. “Babe.” 

Everyone stared at Nate. Who was coming to bed with him tonight? Instead of eenie-meeny-miney-moeing like the last time, he cleared his throat and said, “I’m gonna turn in for the night.” 

Everyone exchanged glances. After a stint of silence, the sounds of everyone shifting their weight could be heard; floorboards creaking, furniture scooting, shuffling of feet. But whatever. Someone would call dibs and it would sort itself out. 

Suddenly, everyone paused. They all looked at Nate, or so he thought. He glanced to the left, then to the right, only to realize they were all looking behind him. Three large footsteps approached. Thud, thud, thud!

“HUMAN SAY TIME FOR BED! PUNY REPORTER WENT LAST TIME! STRONG’S TURN!”

Nate swallowed and turned pale. “I…I can explain this.”

“HUMAN SAY STRONG CAN LISTEN TO FUNNY HOLOTAPE HUMAN FOUND IN TRAILER ABOUT SAD RAT.”

“Uh, what?” snickered MacCready.

“It’s nothing, it’s about a squirrel, okay?” Nate insisted.

“The New Squirrel? Classic!” cheered Deacon. “You know, a friend’s cousin recorded that holotape. Now he’s a ghoul who lives out his days at Parsons State Insane Asylum.”

“None of that is true. Nothing you say is ever true.” 

“Ahhh, you got me!” laughed Deacon. “But seriously, what’s with the bedtime stories?”

“HUMAN HELP MAKE STRONG…LIDD ERR ITT.”

“Literate?” asked Piper. “You’re helping Strong to become…literate? Really, Blue? That’s actually kind of sweet. Hey big guy, can you spell your name for me?”

Nate’s eyes flung open. "NO STRONG D-”

-

“STRONG NEED SOMETHING TO WRITE WITH! NOT BLAME STRONG STUPID HUMAN!”

Curie knelt down next to the reporter and her bloody face. It took a lot of stimpaks to fix the mess the mutant created. But at least Taffington had some art on the walls: five big, red letters spelling out: S R T O G N.


	11. Persuasion Attempt Failed (Nate and Valentine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate asks Nick an important question about their friendship.

Nate stirred the cast iron pot. Orange flames crackled, smoke rising into the cool, Boston air along the waterfront. Valentine sat in an old folding chair a few feet away, back turned to Nate. He heard a puff and glanced up. A thin strand of cigarette smoke dissipated above the synth’s head. 

“Nice night,” sighed Nick, sounding relieved to catch a moment’s peace.

“Eyyyup,” agreed Nate, tapping his spoon against the pot. He reached down with a soft grunt and plucked a bottle of whiskey from the ground. 

Nick stood up after extinguishing his cigarette. “Always preferred something with a nice, high octane myself.”

Nate chuckled and swallowed down his booze with a sharp exhale before tucking the bottle between his legs. The synth approached and took a seat on the ground next to Nate, who considered his next words carefully. “Hey Valentine?”

“Do somethin’ for ya?” Nate opened his mouth but could only chuckle. In exchange, Nick offered an inquisitive expression and said, “Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”

“Nothing, Nick, it’s just…we doing okay?”

Valentine was surprised the vault-dweller still asked these things. He smiled. “Nate, I got you as a friend. There’s nothing more an old bot could ask for.”

Nate grinned. “I feel the same. Feels like I can talk to you about anything.”

“’Course you can,” agreed Nick.

“Cool. Cool. ‘Cause, uh, I had a question…” Nate continued smiling. Nick did not. “I was just wondering, since you and I have come to trust each other, what kind of -”

“I’m not going to tell you what kind of ‘hardware’ the Institute gave me.”

“But – “

“Now eat your stew.”


	12. Atom Cats Poetry Slam (Nate, Hancock, Zeke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate recites a beautiful poem.

_“I take a puff and watch the world melt.  
The blue sky blends into the sea, salty clouds on stellar shores.  
Another hit, unlike anything I’ve felt.  
Asphalt gray, now rainbow like puddles of oil next to Fallon’s department store._

_The air enters my lungs and my eyes expand.  
The trees grow taller, the buildings more jagged, the roads longer.  
Fresh from the vault, now a philosophical man.  
Watching the world wash away with the rain and my mind growing stronger._

_And…THAT – “ _

He clapped loudly. 

_“Is…Jet.”_

Someone coughed. A sparse murmur of obsequious applause crackled briefly in the Atom Cat’s garage. It died quickly. “Holy smokes, total wet rag, amirite?” whispered Zeke, nudging the ghoul in the chair next to him.

Hancock shrugged. “Eh, it’s not so bad. When he takes Mentats he gets, like, really hyper-focused and reads out of the encyclopedia.” 

Zeke lowered his sunglasses in disbelief. “No shit?”

“For hours,” added Hancock. “He has them all on holotape, so he can just load them up in his Pipboy.” 

Hancock took a puff of his own jet and held it in. “It’s fuckin’ atrocious man.” He coughed and greeted Nate as he approached.

“How’d I do?”

“Great job, brother. Hey, whaddya say we try a different chem tonight?”


	13. The Tinker Tom Special (Nate x MacCready pairing, Tinker Tom)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tinker Tom is quite the inventor, and Nate has a few extra caps to spend.

“You here to try the new Tinker Tom special?” Nate frowned. He felt terrible. First mirelurks, then super mutants, then raiders. It was one thing after the other, all the way from Salem to Boston. Even his bruises had bruises. Before he could tell Tom no, the tall man grabbed Nate by the shoulders and said, “Carrington said these babies should be tested first, but who’s got time for that amirite? So, you gonna take a look?”

“What babies?” huffed Nate. Whatever it was, it was probably incredibly stupid tech that nobody needed.

Tom rubbed his hands together. “Ooooh hoo hoo you are gonna LOVE this! Don’t tell Carrington.”

Nate looked into the trunk and gasped. “Is that… I mean, are those…?”

“Yup. Made with love. So, you want one or not?”

“No!” laughed Nate – and he physically laughed, I mean the idea was preposterous – but the more he stared into the trunk, the more questions he had. The more questions he had, the longer he stared. And the longer he stared, the more he became captivated at the idea. “Well…” he hummed.

-

“I have something for you, baby,” said Nate in what he dubbed as his ‘sexy’ voice. He plugged it in and flicked the switch on.

MacCready gasped. “UHHHHH what the HELL is that?! It’s freaking huge! And why is it spinning like that?!”

Nate winked. “Bend over, Robert.”

“What?! No way! You’re crazy if you think that’s gonna fit in-”

Nate laughed. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. It’s a mixer, you muppet. Now hand me that tarberry. We’re making smoothies, jackass.”


	14. Item Glitch (Nate, Curie, Strong)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate's bottle of Nuka Cola keeps falling over.

Nate wasn’t having a very good day. Raiders with rocket launchers, radsickness, and feral hoards were only a few of the things he encountered…and it wasn’t even dinnertime yet. He returned to Taffington Boathouse where his companions idly sat or chatted amongst themselves. He popped some radaway, put up his power armor, and figured he’d set to work on making dinner. 

Entering the kitchen, he did a double take. There on the shelf was the bottle of Nuka Quantum he put on display for the third time. Only it wasn’t sitting straight up anymore. He wrinkled his nose and inspected it closer. A moment later, everyone in the living room froze. “What the hell is this?” asked Nate, holding up the bottle.

“Uh, zat is a Nuka Cola, yes?” answered Curie.

“Zis,” mocked Nate, “was the bottle of Nuka Quantum I left sitting UPRIGHT on the shelf. So would anyone like to explain to me why it was knocked over?”

Silence.

Nate sighed. “This is the third effing time I’ve come home to find my belongings tipped over. And it’s only on that shelf. Nothing upstairs moves. Nothing outside. Only in the kitchen on this particular shelf. So tell me: why?”

More silence.

“WHY?!” shouted Nate. Curie jumped and the others exchanged confused glances. “If none of you are moving my shit around, then who’s moving it?! Huh?! Why can’t I keep a bottle of Nuka-fucking-Cola, or a robot model, or anything on that shelf in there?! Why does it move?! WHY DOES IT MOVE?!”

“Monsieur,” peeped Curie, “please, calm down. I am afraid you are having an anxiety attack.”

“Anxiety?! ANXIETY?!” cried Nate. He began to cackle. “Curie, baby, I fight raiders! Big baddies in power armor! Mutants! Giant insects! Evil robots! Why would I have a panic attack over a shelf?!”

Nate tossed the Nuka onto the ground and heel-toed it over to the shelf. “Besides, if the shelf WERE giving me a panic attack WHICH IT TOTALLY IS NOT, then the logical solution would be to just dismantle the shelf, right? RIGHT?!”

Nate took the butt of his gun and started smashing the shelf to pieces. Everyone watched in awe. Nate then took each, individual, destroyed piece out to his workbench and tossed it into a pile. He came back fifteen minutes later with wild hair and wilder eyes. “See?! See! Everything is fine! Now I have enough wood to make another cat painting!”

“EH, SHELF JUST GET IN HUMAN’S WAY. SHELF DESERVE TO DIE,” explained Strong.

Nate inhaled sharply. “Thank you!”


	15. Just Married (Cait and Nate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cait and Nate take a pee break.

Nate was getting over a cold. He didn’t feel too bad, but he was still stuffy, and gross stuff was dripping down his throat.

“Hold up a sec,” he said with the sort of congested pitch that came with being sick.

“No problem,” said Cait. “Gotta piss anyway.”

Nate wrinkled up his nose and hacked, trying to draw up some of the phlegm. Meanwhile, Cait walked off a few paces next to the old railroad track and dropped trou. 

The raider poked his head out from inside of the train car and poised his gun. “Huh?” he mumbled. One of his targets was in the middle of a fit of vehement snorting, the other with her legs spread open, squatting against the ground. Urine trickled along the slope of the track while her companion grunted and coughed up the vilest wad of saliva the raider had ever seen. 

“Oi!” shouted Cait. Nate lifted his head up and glared, drawing his pistol. Cait grabbed her shotgun from the ground and cocked it.

“Whoa, whoa, relax!” shouted the lone raider. “I don’t rob married couples!”


	16. Thin Walls (Nate, MacCready, Danse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paladin Danse overhears some very suspicious noises.

“Please,” whined MacCready.

“Shhh, hold still,” demanded Nate. “Lean over and just try to relax.”

“O-o-okay…”

Paladin Danse placed his ear against the wall. The thin, thin wall. Taffington Boathouse really needed some repairs. Danse was pretty sure he would need repairs too after this.

“Ohhh…”

“Quiet!” hissed Nate. 

Danse heard two palms slam against the table. 

“Sorry, boss, it’s just really deep…”

“R.J., stop calling me boss. I think we’re past that at this point.”

MacCready offered up a noise somewhere in between a mewl and a laugh. “Y-yeah, I guess s-s-so-ohhh! Oh my god!”

“Dude. Breathe.”

MacCready gave a deep sigh. “Yeah, sorry, it’s just…oh damn that’s big…”

“It’s not that big.”

“Uh, it’s pretty goddamn big!”

“It’s not that big,” repeated Nate. Silence. Then, “Ah, shit!”

“Why am I wet?!”

“You’re bleeding a little. Just let me do my thing. Can you shut up for five seconds?”

“It hurts!”

“Oh my…ugh. Here. Stick this in your mouth and be quiet.” 

“MPH!” Danse’s eyes widened. MacCready made a couple of garbled sounds before everything got quiet again. Danse listened harder. Finally, MacCready started choking. A moment later and his mouth was free. “Ugh, stop, I’m gagging.”

“It is literally a gag.”

“Well I don’t wanna throw up all over you!”

“Hold on, almost there…”

“R-really? Well hurry up! It hurts like hell!”

“Okay, riiight there…”

MacCready grunted. “Rrrghhhh!”

THUD THUD THUD. Danse appeared in the doorway. “What the hell are you two doing?!”

“AH!” wailed MacCready as Nate plucked the radscorpion stinger out of his asscheek. 

“Ha! Got it! Yo whaddap Danse.”

“I. You were just. Oh.” He glanced over at MacCready’s swollen ass. “I see. Uh. Good work, soldier. Carry on, then. Ad…ad…victoriam…”


	17. Chickens (MacCready x Nate pairing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MacCready and Nate casually discuss the existence of chickens.

Nate knelt down and sank the knife into the deathclaw, grunting as he sliced off a thick cut from its thigh. A little blood splattered against his white shirt. Whatever. It was old anyway. Besides, deathclaw meat was totally worth it.

“Pretty chewy, isn’t it?” asked MacCready. The mercenary sat on the ground wiping a smudge of dirt off the barrel of his sniper rifle. 

“Eh, sure,” answered Nate, setting the first cut onto a rock. “Best meat you can get out here, though. Shame to let it go to waste.”

“I guess. My favorite’s venison, though.”

Nate paused right before he plunged the knife back into the creature’s thigh, glancing over at MacCready. “What?”

“Venison?” he repeated. “You know, like, radstags?”

“No, I know what venison is, but that’s not really a ‘favorite meat’ kind of meat.”

Now it was MacCready’s turn to glance up. He scoffed. “What’s wrong with venison?”

“Nothing. It’s just gamey.”

“So?”

“So there isn’t a whole lot you can do with it. Stuff like beef and chicken are versatile. But venison? Pain in the ass.”

“Maybe you just can’t cook, boss.” 

Nate’s brows furrowed and he set the knife aside. He stood up and wiped his hands over his shirt, saying, “That’s rich coming from somebody who burned water last week.”

“Hey, that isn’t fair!” wailed MacCready. He stood up too. “Whoever was using that cooking spit spilled oil all over it or something. Not my fault the whole damned thing caught on fire. And just for the record, chickens don’t exist!”

“What? Yes they do!” Nate’s voice raised an octave.

“Nuh uh.”

“Yes huh.”

A smirk stretched across MacCready’s face. “Oh yeah, idiot? Show me a chicken.” 

“I will. In Far Harbor.”

Just as quickly as it had appeared, his grin was gone. “Ohhh no you don’t, I see what you’re doing!”

“Oh? What am I doing?” huffed an indignant Nate.

“You already know I hate being on the water. You’re not dragging me back onto that boat.”

“She’s a ship, MacCready, show some respect. Besides, I wouldn’t dare. Last time you were so green I mistook you for a supermutant.”

“Yeah? Well. That was embarrassing. So, you know, shaddup.”

Now Nate smirked.

MacCready sat back down and resumed cleaning his gun in silence, and Nate went about pulling a few more cuts from the deathclaw. It was about three in the afternoon. The sun shone high over Natick. The sounds of dead grass rustling and waves teasing the shore could be heard in the distance, as well as the hacking of Nate’s knife and shuffling of MacCready’s rifle against his lap. Suddenly, Nate broke the silence.

“There are chickens, though.”

“Oh will you can it already?! You’re so full of it.”

“I am not full of it! There are chickens all over that god-forsaken island!”

“Bullsh- er, bullcrap!”

“It is not!”

“You know what? Fine!” MacCready stood up quickly, rifle clattering to the ground. “Let’s go! Right now!”

“Are you trying to fight me?”

“What? No! Not ‘let’s go’ like that. I mean let’s go to Far Harbor!”

Nate laughed aloud. “So you can see a chicken?”

“So I can prove you’re full of shit!”

“Wow. A curse word. Very risqué today, Robert.”

“Call me that again and I’ll show you risqué…”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Nate took off his shirt and used it to wrap up the cuts of meat. “Hey, lemme borrow a clean shirt, will ya?”

“Ugh,” sighed MacCready, and rifled through his pack. His shirts were always a little small on Nate, but he couldn’t complain; Nate filled them out well. Easy on the eyes, that vault-dweller. He tossed a t-shirt over to the taller man who caught it with one hand and winked. “You’re terrible,” griped MacCready, and picked his gun up off the ground. “So, we going or what?”

Nate laughed again. “To Fah Habbah?”

“Why do you say it like that? You’re not cute, you know.” 

“Bitch please, I’m adorable. Besides, that’s how the cool kids say it.” He pulled the shirt over his head. Dayum, thought MacCready, blushing and keeping his mouth shut about it. “You aren’t serious?” confirmed Nate.

“Oh, I’m serious.”

Nate let out an extended sigh. “MacCready. You’re telling me you want to walk from Natick, located at the ass-end of the Commonwealth, all the way to the Nakano’s up north, take a ship – which you hate – all the way to Fah Habbah, JUST to see a chicken?”

MacCready blinked. “Well, when you say it like that, it sounds pretty stupid.”

“Because it is stupid.”

MacCready’s brows arched under his silly hat. “Well then, yeah, I do wanna go, ‘cause it’s not stupid. You’re stupid.”

“That the best insult you’ve got?”

“Oh, I’ll have plenty’a time to come up with insults. ON THE WALK THERE.”

Nate tittered. “Alright, have it your way. Let’s go find a chicken.”

“GREAT.” MacCready turned heel.

“We have too much time on our hands…” Nate muttered to himself.

-TEN MINUTES LATER-

Nate rifled through the abandoned house that hugged the Glowing Sea. He opened a dresser drawer and recovered ten caps, some bubblegum, and a brand, new bottle of whiskey. 

MacCready approached from behind. “Hey, remember that time we got drunk and tried to shoot our piss streams through life savers floating along the reservoir?”

“Uh huh.”

“Wanna do that instead?”

Nate breathed a sigh of relief. “God, yes.”


	18. Franken-Armor (Danse, Nate, Hancock)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate washes his power armor in his cute, lil' britches.

“I’ve been a bad, bad boy, Paladin.”

Nate bent over and stuck his ass in the air, swaying it from side to side as he rubbed the soapy sponge over his power armor torso. The suit stood inert in its frame, a month’s worth of blood and guts dripping from the porch into the garden at Taffington Boathouse. 

“What are you wearing, soldier?” asked Danse.

“Oh, THEEESE?” 

Hancock watched from the porch, smiling. It was a warm, summer’s day, and the vault-dweller looked mighty fine in those daisy-dukes. Plus, it was nice to kick back and watch this dialogue unfold. Beat the hell out of mayoral duties, anyway.

“These are my washin’ shorts, cowboy.”

“It’s Paladin.”

“Yee haw!”

“Don’t…ugh,” sighed Danse, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please stop making that noise.”

“Yee haw?”

“It’s terrible.”

“I am terrible…” Nate bent over, rubbing the gory sponge up and down his bare, hairy thighs. “Mmm, Danse, punish me.”

Danse said nothing, just stared and wanted to die.

“Yes, punish me!” Nate slapped the sponge down and posed by sticking his arms around the neck of the power armor and kicking his leg up. “Yas!”

Danse glared. “Is that what I think it is?”

Nate let his leg fall. “What?”

The paladin’s glare intensified. “Is that a T-45 arm on the right and a C-51 on the left?”

Nate shrugged.

“Unacceptable. And…don’t tell me that’s a pair of T-60 legs with an -” 

“X-01 helmet, yes,” interrupted Nate. “What, you seriously have a problem with my suit of power armor?”

“It’s abhorrent, like some kind of Frankenstein armor.”

“Frankenstein’s monster,” corrected Hancock. Nate and Danse turned to the ghoul. “What? Ghoul’s best friend tends to be a book. No one else usually talks to us. Never a problem I’ve had myself.”

Nate and Danse exchanged glances, uncertain of how to react to that.

“So you two gonna fuck already?”

“OH FOR-!” cried Danse.


	19. Get Creative! (Hancock and Nate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock and Nate get inspired and build something beautiful together!

Nate laughed so hard he thought his insides were going to explode. No sounds were coming out anymore. His shoulders shook and he let out a long, hard wheeze. There were tears rolling down his face. He pointed with one hand, dropping the inhaler of jet with the other. 

“Oh man, I’ve gotta resign as mayor,” said Hancock, pupils dilated like big, black saucers.

Nate’s silent wheezing turned into a loud burst of cackling before he finally settled down long enough to ask, “Why resign?” He was still giggling.

“Don’t you get it, man? Look at that.” Hancock gestured to the beautiful creation before him. “That’s the new mayor. He’s the mayor Goodneighbor deserves.”

“She,” corrected Nate, wiping away another tear.

“You sure? I’m pretty sure that’s a dick.”

The word dick made high-Nate laugh again, and this time he took Hancock with him. Once they calmed down, Nate said, “Nah, Hancock, that’s her hat. See? And those two cans are tiddies.” 

“I thought those were balls.”

Nate gasped. He looked Hancock right in the eyes. “Hancock. They’re balls. Of _steeeeeel._”

The two laughed again, then they laughed some more. Then they took some more jet and kept modifying their beautiful creation.

Nate and Hancock woke up tangled in each other’s arms. The ghoul was naked. “Ugh. You see the brand on the brahmin that stamped my head last night?” They sat up, and through the door scuttled…the thing!

A Mr. handy torso. Eight protectron legs. Four assaultron arms. A settlement recruitment beacon on its head. Two “tiddies.” And this hot mess of a robot-workbench creation was even sporting Hancock’s coat and hat. It. Was. Horrible.

“WHY HAVE YOU CREATED ME” it said in its robobrain voice, except in Russian.

“You can change the language?” mused Hancock.

Fifteen Minutemen approached from behind, each of them more horrified than the last.

“Oh god, we actually turned on the beacon?” questioned Nate.

The robot began wailing in unintelligible Russian, charging up all four of its assaultron lasers. 

“Well, shit,” sighed Hancock. “If we survive this, we’ve gotta stop getting crossfaded on jet and psycho.”


	20. Vertibirds (Nate, MacCready, Valentine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine just wants to solve his case, but how can he concentrate with those darn vertibirds everywhere?!

Valentine glanced up at the sky and grimaced. It seemed he couldn’t walk three blocks anymore without seeing another one of those damned vertibirds buzzing around. What was the Brotherhood up to, anyway? Probably looting some old building for tech they allegedly ‘needed’ to ‘liberate the Commonwealth.’ 

“Hope you crash, you oversized, metallic mosquito,” muttered the synth, and lit up a cigarette.

Three, four blocks later, and there it was again. Christ. The poor synth just wanted to finish up his investigation in Boston and head home for some well-earned R&R. Besides, with his partner, Nate busy mucking about with MacCready, he was bored out of his mind…not that he would have admitted it to Nate. The man would never stop holding it over his head. 

“Buzz off,” Valentine commanded, yellow eyes fixed on the sky. The vertibird did indeed buzz off. For a while anyway. Five minutes later and it was back. “Oh for crying out loud, I’m heading home. How’s a detective supposed to concentrate with…what the?”

A splatter. Rain? But it was perfectly sunny out. The vertibird flew off once and for all - _finally_ \- leaving Valentine to dust the mystery liquid off of his trench coat with a perplexed expression. He supposed it would be one mystery he never solved.

-

The vertibird landed at long last, dust stirring under its supports. The whirring of the blades grew fewer and farther between as the pilot unfastened her seatbelt. Nate hopped out and offered a hand to the wobbly MacCready. Once he was safe on the ground, he groaned and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

Nate pressed a hand against his back. “You good?”

MacCready nodded, suppressing another gag. “Urk. Yeah, I think so. Man, I hate going up in these things.”


	21. Illness (Valentine and Nate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine gets fed up when Nate refuses to address his medical issues.

Nate stretched and yawned. Suddenly, his pipboy lit up. “Hm? What?” he griped, squinting his eyes against the early light of dawn. He had fallen asleep in some cemetery somewhere next to an empty bottle of whiskey and familiar synth with his nose buried in a copy of _Guns and Bullets._

“Mornin’. Something wrong?”

Nate winced harder, ignoring his hangover, the bottle as it clattered onto the cement next to the dirty mattress, and the pile of Fancy Lads Snack Cake wrappers that crumpled under his weight. “Huh. My pipboy says I’m sick.”

“Oh?”

“Weakness? The fuck does that mean? Stupid thing’s probably broken.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s broken and not the direct impact of your atrocious diet or anything,” replied Nick.

“Stupid Vault-Tec and your stupid technology…” Nate ignored him and banged on his screen. “Ow my hand!”

“Ah, weakness.”

“Rgh!”

-

“All this weakness is making me tired,” said Nate.

“Hydrate.”

“You always tell me to hydrate.”

“And do you ever?”

“Well…no. Ugh. Fine, Valentine. I’ll hydrate.” Nate walked over to the closest source of water. Nick immediately frowned. “Happy, Nick? Is this what you want?”

“You know damn well it isn’t.”

“Well this is happening.”

Nick pinched the bridge of his nose, one of those phantom-pains he got sometimes when he was shot or injured or Nate was being an asshole. “Nate, I can count two spare tires, a bathtub, and a mannequin torso in that reservoir. Don’t be a hero. Wait ‘til we get some purified-”

Nate bent over like a feral ghoul, hunched back and all, slurping at the water. His pipboy lit up. “Shit.”

“Oh for goodness sake, what now?”

“I have insomnia?”

“…”

“WHY?! From drinking water?!”

“Maybe it’s from drinking irradiated saltwater, you ass.”

-

“Valentine.”

A sharp, synthetic inhale came from the dark corner. “What now?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“I know. You’ve been telling me so for three hours.”

“I think I really do have insomnia.”

“And I really have a headache, which is saying a lot considering I’m made of metal, polymer, and witty comebacks. Now go to bed before I drag your mattress out into the wilderness.”

-

“Fuck.”

“What now?!” snapped Valentine.

“Parasites. I have parasites,” replied Nate, staring into the green glow with a horrified expression painted on his face. “Uh oh. I need a bush.”

-

“URGH.”

“The hell aroma is that?”

“Forgive me father for I have sinned…”

“You religious?” asked Nick, taking a heavy drag of his cigarette a safe distance away from his partner.

Nate groaned and another fart erupted from behind the bushes, followed by a terrible, terrible splashing sound. “I am now, Valentine. I am now.”

-

Nate felt terrible. Absolutely terrible. He was sweating bullets and really needed some fresh air. And so he climbed up to the top of the rock and sat, gazing over the bay as the sun set. The cool wind felt wonderful against his burning cheeks. For the first time in two days, he was tired. Really tired. And so he closed his eyes. 

-

Nate coughed, hacking water out of his lungs as the detective dragged him out of the bay. “Are you crazy?!” scolded Nick.

The soaking wet Nate lied in the sand and stared up at the sky, panting. “I…I think…I think I fell asleep.” And then, Nate started to cry. “Nick…my asshole is so sore. From the weakness, and the diarrhea. Please just throw me back in the ocean and forget about me.”

“TAKE THE DAMNED ANTIBIOTICS NATHAN.”


	22. Gotcha (Nate and Preston)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate marks something on Preston's map for a change.

“Hey.”

“Oh. Hey General.”

Nate punched a couple buttons on his pipboy. His map came up. “There’s a settlement that could use our help, Preston.”

Garvey’s eyes lit up like the Prydwen did that time it exploded, because, you know, Preston blew it up with artillery. “Really?”

“Yeah, man. I’ll show you.” Nate pointed at the screen.

Preston glanced down. He was so proud of the general. He had come so far, going from being a scared vault-dweller to a responsible, upstanding individual who…

“Oh.”

Preston glowered. He stared down at Nate’s fingers. His index finger and thumb made a circle, his middle, ring and pinky fingers standing straight up. He held the gesture close to the screen with a big, wide grin on his face. “Want me to mark it on your map?”

“With all due respect, General? Fuck you.”


	23. Man Cave (Danse and Deacon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deacon pays the apathetic Danse a visit.

“Oh, it’s you,” said Danse, munching on a bag of potato crisps. He was lounging on the bed in his literal man cave. He glanced up from his comic book, but just barely.

“Hey, buddy. Sooo. How’s it goin’?” asked Deacon, swinging back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels, compulsively clapping his hands together. 

“Why are you here?”

“Straight to the point. Love it. It’s so _Paladin-Danse._”

“It’s just Danse now.” He glowered and scratched his gut. His shirt rose up over the tuft of dark hair on his belly. There was crumbs in it. “Did Nathan send you here?”

“Nathan? Sheesh. No, _Nate_ didn’t send me. I’m here because, well…it’s time for an intervention.”

“An…intervention?”

“Yeah. Look.” Deacon pulled up a chair and spun it around, intending to sit in it backward with his arms resting over the back. First he had to move a stack of Grognak comics out of the way, along with some ammo casings and five empty boxes of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes. Once all _that_ was on the floor, he sat as intended, facing Danse. “You’ve been exiled from the Brotherhood for a little over a month now, and, well…I’ve gotta say, it’s not a good look on you.”

“Why do _you_ care?” He popped another chip into his mouth and chewed angrily, eyebrows clinging to the tops of his eye sockets. 

“Hey, I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but you and me? We’re friends. Amigos. Comrades.”

“No we’re not. You work for the Railroad.”

“And you’re a big, shiny tool, but here we are.” Danse glowered again. Those eyebrows tho. “Anyway, I noticed that you’re, uh, gaining a little bit of weight, and-”

“My body mass index is perfectly normal, thank you.” He paused and scratched the stubble on his face. “For the most part.”

“Sure, sure. And hey, look, I’m as straight as the day I was born, but you were kind of a hunk before. Now, though…” Deacon gestured and went _ehhhhh._ Danse’s brows, oh how they furrowed. “Not so much. Might I suggest, and this may sound crazy, exercise?”

“I’m perfectly capable of exercising any time I please.”

“So what’s stopping you from exercising right now?”

Danse looked offended. “I’m studying.”

Deacon offered a cautious laugh. “That’s Grognak the Barbarian, buddy. Noticed you’ve got quite the collection going on, but hey, that’s cool. What _will_ that wacky barbarian do next, amirite?”

“As it stands, Grognak is having an epic battle with Mastadonald, who has joined forces with Skullpocalypse to-” Danse stopped talking. “Oh. I see where this is going. You think I’m a fanatic.”

“Fanatic? Your words, not mine.” Deacon sniffed. “Look, comics are great. Why don’t we focus on the smell instead? Well…odor.”

“Odor? What odor?”

“Yeahhh, that’s sorta _my_ question, because there are _several._ When’s the last time you showered, buddy?”

Danse glared. “Recently.”

“Well maybe what I’m smelling then is the cow that’s been rotting in that puddle of water over by that stalagmite.”

“It’s a stalactite.” 

“You know what? You’re absolutely right. I apologize. About that cow, though.”

“It’s a brahmin. And it’s for eating.”

“That’s the same brahmin that’s been sitting there for weeks. A month, maybe. I think it’s beyond pulling cuts from, pal.”

“I beg to disagree.” As if on cue, Danse farted this horrible, rancid fart that permeated throughout the room in such a way that the smell of the actual rotting brahmin was overtaken. 

Deacon actually gagged, going so far to fling is hand over his mouth. “Urk. Oh god.”

“It’s just some indigestion. And gas.”

“THAT? Ah, ha ha, that is not JUST anything. You need a doctor. What are you eating besides rotting meat, potato chips and snack cakes?” Deacon pulled his hand away from his face and reached down, plucking one of the snack cake boxes from the ground. He examined it before tossing it into a stack of empty Nuka Cola and beer bottles. They all fell over with a series of clinks.

“Hey! That was my pyramid!”

Deacon glanced at the pile and raised an eyebrow behind his sunglasses. “It was?”

“Well it was first layer. I hadn’t gotten around to finishing my project yet.”

“Holy shit, Danse. Look. I’m done playing games. If you don’t leave the cave, it’s not gonna be me that comes back to check on you.” Deacon stood up. 

Danse thought about following suit, but then he’d have to adjust his pants which had ridden down over his crack, and you know, you gotta pick your battles. “Are you threatening me, Deacon?”

“Threatening you? Hell no. Consider it a warning.” He took off his sunglasses, looked Danse right in the eyes, and said, “Because next time, it won’t be friendly, ol’ Deacon who comes ‘round to visit. It’ll be…” his look intensified, “…PIPER.”

“Oh come on!”

“You heard me! Now get your act together, or so help me, I’ll…I’ll…I’ll tell Piper on you!”

This time Danse actually stood up. His too-small pants nearly fell down, but he managed to pull them up, comics and crisps spilling from his lap onto the floor. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, wouldn’t I though?”

“Damn it, Deacon. Fine. I’ll clean up the brahmin.”

“AND leave the cave, AND do some sit-ups, AND take a shower.”

“Well now you’re just being demanding.”

“No. You know who’s demanding?”

Danse sighed. “Pi-”

“Piper! You’re goddamn right! So are you gonna get your act together?”

“Yes.”

“And are you gonna eat a vegetable?”

“Ugh. Yes.”

“Excellent. Good talk, chief.”


	24. Atom Cats Poetry Slam Friendship Extravaganza (Nate, Piper, Strong, Cait, Deacon, Curie, Nick, Preston, Hancock)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nate goes back for another round of Atom Cats Poetry, and this time, he brings his friends along for the ride.

“See? I told you this was fun,” said Nate, watching his friends line up to take their turns reciting poetry for the Atom Cats. They had all agreed that Nate was going to get his ass beat tonight, because fuck that noise. “You’re up, Piper.”

Piper cleared her throat and stepped up to the microphone, a sea of Atom Cats and Nate’s friends watching in anticipation. “Okay. Sooo. Heyyy. I’m Piper. Pretty much everything I write is expository, so bear with me here…ahem:

_There once was a man who came from a vault  
Suit as blue as the sky,  
He asked that I deviate from exposes  
I should have stopped to ask why._

_He dragged me through Boston, and then through South Boston  
Past mirelurks, Gunners and ghouls,  
Only to end up inside a garage  
Spewing poems like a goddamn fool._”

The crowd snickered while Nate glowered.

“Thanks, everyone! I’m Piper Wright! Find me at Publick Occurences, where I write things that actually matter! Next up is Preston Garvey, actual real Minute-Man!”

Piper stepped down and Preston stepped up. He looked nervous. “Alright. So, I’m Preston Garvey, buttttt, I guess Piper already said that. Well, I’m not very good at poems, but here it goes:

_How about that?  
I’ll mark it on your map.  
Let’s rap.  
About…the things on your map._”

The room filled with cringe.

“_You want settlements?  
We got those.  
You want farms?  
We’ve got rakes and hoes._ Get it?” 

Oh, the crowd got it. Someone coughed.

“_Sanctuary Hills?   
Come get your thrills.  
With radio beacons…  
And some hills…_”

“Holy shite! Next!” cried Cait, forcefully shoving Preston off of the stage. “And for the record, you can’t rhyme ‘hills’ with ‘hills!’ Pretty sure that’s against the rules. Alright, my turn. I’m Cait, and I don’t want to be here. Here it goes:

_Fuck you, Nate, you prick. We ain’t makin’ any caps readin’ poetry._”

“Oh come on!” shouted Nate. “You didn’t even try!”

“Bullshite, you arsehole! This is goddamn poetry! Want me to prove it?!”

“Yeah, maybe I do!”

“Five, seven, and five. It’s called a haiku, you cunt. Now leave me alone.”

Nate opened his mouth to speak. Suddenly he began counting on his fingers. Holy shit. They really were haikus. Every last one of them.

“I win,” sneered Cait, and gave way for Nick Valentine, who said, “Not a chance,” and gave way for Deacon. 

“Hi everyone, I’m Deacon!” Nobody said anything, so he followed up with, “_Hiii Deacon._ Today, I’ll be reading a poem I wrote especially for Piper.”

“Oh lord,” she said, and sank into her chair.

“_Roses are red,   
Piper’s persistent,   
Stop asking me for interviews,   
It’s none of your business.”_

“Yeah, I get it, Deacon. You want me to shut up.”

“Wait wait, that’s not even the best poem. Ahem. _There once was a nosy reporter,  
Who lived on the east-Boston border,  
Her newspaper failed,  
So she cursed and she wailed,  
Then she stood on the corner for quarters._”

“Wowwwww Deacon, okay, thanks!”

“I’ve got more if-”

“You know, I think I’ll just stop asking for interviews. Besides, it’s Curie’s turn. So, you know, scram.”

Deacon looked smug and gestured for Curie to come up onto the stage. She did so with disdain. “Zis is very creative, but zis time would be better used to review science. Zis is why I ‘ave prepared several pie charts. Ze first is a study on institutions of science and education in ze Commonwealth today, versus similar institutions existing in the same geographic locations before ze bombs fell, and how we may advance our understanding in-”

“STRONG BORED. STRONG RECITE PO-IT-TREE. MOVE PUNY HUMAN.”

“Dieu!” Curie staggered off the stage with her charts, leaving room for the hulking supermutant.

“_STRONG SUPER MUTANT.  
STRONG BIG. STRONG GREEN.  
WHY HUMANS SEE STRONG   
AND HAVE TO BE MEAN?_

_EVERYONE WANT SAME THING,  
FOR STUPID HUMANS TO DIE.  
NOBODY STOP TO ASK STRONG…  
WHY?_”

The room fell silent.

“_STRONG SMART!  
STRONG USE BIG WORDS!  
STRONG SAY VO-CAB-YOO-LA-REE  
HIS BROTHERS NOT HEARD._

_STRONG MAYBE GET HUMANS  
TO UNDERSTAND BROTHERS  
SO WE CAN COME TO UNDERSTANDING  
AND **CRUSH ONE A-NO-THER!!!**”_

“Holy shit,” gasped Hancock. “Gonna need a hit of jet after that.”


End file.
